


An Antidote for the Emptiness of Existence

by AdynDtrio



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cosette accidentally ships it, M/M, The gypsy woman knows all, Valvert Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdynDtrio/pseuds/AdynDtrio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Valvert gift exchange round 3, Prompt #40: Kid-fic. Valjean and Javert are cursed, you can choose in which way. During the day Valjean is a child, from dusk till dawn is Javert that rejuvenates. Javert certainly can not arrest a child, and it is not safe for a child to live alone, at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Antidote for the Emptiness of Existence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lokimischiefmanaged](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lokimischiefmanaged).



> ”We all fear death and question our place in the universe. The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.” - Gertrude Stein (From Midnight in Paris)

Jean Valjean is walking along the street in the heavy twilight of winter when he heard a youthful voice from behind, calling him to stop. There is some familiar authority in the voice and that almost makes him jumps. But no, Javert would never sound that young. The assuring thought makes him feels safe enough to turn back.

There is a boy; too clean and most importantly too young to wonder alone on the street even for a gamin, staring up at him as threatening as his age allowed. The child is dressed in an oversized shirt uniform with sleeves rolled up as if he stole it from his father’s closet. No coat. It’s indeed too big and bulky to carry around. His memory stirs for some of the boy’s movements. And his first thought is ‘since when Javert has a son?’

Before Valjean could ask if there is anything he could help, the boy stalks towards him fearlessly. He grips on his scarred wrist and tugs him to walk in the opposite direction. “You’re under arrest. Come with me and don’t try to run away.”

Valjean blinks and walks along with him obediently before he can think of what happened. Then right after he thinks of utter a ‘pardon?’ or even a kind reply like ‘you’ll be a good policeman!’ but what actually escapes from his lips is “…Javert?”

To his great astonishment, the boy replies: “Do you expect someone else?”

Too late to run, Valjean stares jaw-dropping at the boy, stands still as if his feet are nailed to the street. His worst ending comes true in the immensely strange way. He starts to laugh, maybe at the boy who said he is his hunter, or maybe at himself for believe that’s true. The boy kicks him angrily but Valjean barely feels it.

“Laugh all you want, convict.” Javert snarls in embarrassment, his face a bit reddened as he hiding it by tugging his wrist and starts to march again. More like a pony tries to drag an oversize cart. “It will be my turn soon.”

“You owe me an explanation.” Valjean states after a short pause. His laugh stopped now and his head is clear enough to notice the way Javert drags his now-oversized leather boots around and almost stumbles sometimes. He still allows the other to lead his way. The ex-convict has a suspicion when they walk to the nearest police station. “Why you’re still on patrol while your physical appearance isn’t …ready?”

The question was unexpected. Javert looks up, almost stopping the pace, staring at him as if he just metamorphosed into an alien before his very eyes. That stare; in normal state could tame a tiger, but for now Valjean isn’t sure if he could use the term ‘cute’ without getting a glower. The young Javert murmurs, with the tone that Valjean remembers it should be a snarl, “That’s the weirdest thing to ask, Valjean.”

“Is that so? Then where will we go?” He swears his face is perfectly straight, but it’s hard to hide an invisible grin in his tone. The way to speak with a child, indeed. Javert notices that and snaps back. As young as he currently is, he looks more a spoiled child than a feared inspector. Again Valjean checks his thought.

“Nowhere. Just go on and shut the fuck up.”

“Boy doesn’t say ‘fuck’, Javert” Valjean replies automatically. His skill in boy-raising should be rusty since he hasn’t used it for decades. It came out easily enough, still. He must have said these exact words to one of his nephew a long time ago.

“Because I’m not an actual boy, idiot!” Javert growls, almost stumping feet in annoyance. But maybe knowing that won’t be threatened as he wishes, he doesn’t. “And I’m still ‘inspector’ to you!”

If he doesn’t know Javert before; having an unknown young boy in officer’s uniform may cause him some questions towards his commander. It’s hard to prove who he is, harder to explain. He, too, still has no proper explanation; the best he can do is stays calm and braces himself for when the worst comes. The still-a-grown man protests back. “But I feel like I’m supporting child labor calling you that”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think” The not-boy growls. “Wait until this night pass…”

“And?” He decides not to argue about the taboo word further. Looking at his young hunter, part of him wonders what kind of the boy Javert had been. Surely the boy looked like this Javert, but maybe softer or even shy. This though is unfamiliar yet new refreshing; it’s easy to see hunter as only hunter. It almost makes him smiles out of place. But the next of what Javert says stops it in time.

“We’ll see, you damnable convict, we’ll see.” He hisses, almost more to himself than to the mentioned man. Amused and determined, the same cold expression he had seen once long time ago, when Javert came to him at the fateful night in Montreuil-sur-Mer. Javert doesn’t look as horrid to him as he did then, yet the expression transforms his youthful face into a young fiend.

Valjean pales. As forgiving as he is, Valjean never forget the fate of the poor Fantine. Javert is a ruthless officer and Valjean fear is run very deep. Building a fortress, he snaps back with the Madeleine’s commanding tone. “Watch your mouth, young man!”

The authority in Valjean’s voice freezes him abruptly. It’s harder to hide its effect when he was like this. But in the next second he recalls who he is speaking with. There is no Madeleine. “Oh, I swear to god, Valjean.” Javert rolls his eyes dismissively, “Shut up, will you?”

Valjean does. Half from his anger and fear altogether, the other half from seeing no reason to arguing further. After a while it’s Javert who break the silence “Won’t you ask?”

His deepest fear has reach its peak a moment ago and now ebbs away. He sighs, trying to keep his mind steady and repeats the once-asked question. “Fine. Where will we go?”

“That isn’t what I prepare to answer.” The younger mumbles but replies nevertheless. “My patrol will end at midnight. Then you will go with me.”

“If you still have no idea where we should go, I suggest my house.” He assumes for the not specific place, Otherwise the determined man — boy, he doesn’t even know why he wants to correct it — as Javert would tell him where to go already. Knowing the risk of his offer, his heart sinks a bit for Cosette. But it has to be done. He had hidden for too long and is ready to what will come.

The stars are already out. Countless sentinels that fill the dark, clear sky. Enraptured by the beauty of the night, Valjean let out one of his rare smiles. Javert’s expression was soften as well when he looked up. The whole Paris is sleeping. Only their footsteps are heard through the empty street. So strangely peaceful that even criminals dare not to commit a crime in such a night. Javert takes the lead. His vision is better than Valjean in the dark; the night comes very quickly this time of the year.

They patrol the streets at first, but then the vigilant round turns to a relaxed walk. And when the church bell rang eleven times they find themselves along the riverside, walk down onto the streets which aren’t Javert’s patrol area. Javert almost punches the older man for this. (“I will not tolerant any interference of my duty!”) Valjean hides his grin while he lets the boy pouts.

Since Javert insisted to redo patrol properly, the police station is empty when they arrive. Another officer went out for his shift already. The now-boy climbs up (and refused vehemently at Valjean’s offer to carry him) to the chair and starts writing a report. Valjean looks around, not every day an ex-convict would have a chance to visit police station without being captured. Javert notices the wandering eyes and scowls, grumbles under his breath about how humble a criminal should be instead of roving around.

The paperwork is more exhausting than the patrol itself. He yawns occasionally to the report, once almost slipped the quill out of the line. Normally Javert won’t complain about the desk work but it never been his favorite part of the job. The boy’s expression tells how relieve he is to jump down the chair and throw the finished report into its place.

When they are back to Valjean’s resident, Javert fixes his eyes on address first, then survey the surrounding. Javert is as good a bloodhound as he always is. 

Valjean can’t help but smile. He conceals the grin by unlocking the door, turning his back to him. Once following in, Javert sweeps his gaze around as if finding the way out just in case that Valjean has planned to kill him here after all. True to his paranoid self, Valjean deadbolts the door before he leads Javert to the living room.

“My room is at upstairs. Go to sleep, a boy your age shouldn’t stay up this late. Would you like any warm milk before the bed?” He asks, innocently and casually as though he is talking to an actual child. That inevitably make Javert shoots the daggers with his youthful-but scary eyes.

Valjean sighs “…I’ll take it as a ‘no’ then?”

Javert sinks himself into the coach instead, sighs back to the other and asking himself non-verbally how many times he must sigh to Valjean until the curse would end. Boots drops down heavily on the carpet without unlaces, shows the flabby pair of socks. He crossed his leg, pouts. “And you would surely runaway while I sleep.”

Shaking his head defeatedly, Valjean sits down next to him. “I can’t go back to the room now. Cosette would hear my footsteps.” He explains. “Now sleep.”

And Javert looks at him with a pair of stubborn eyes, arms crossing.

Silence grows; disturbingly quiet that Valjean hears his pocket watch’s tic-tac. The boy shifts uncomfortably next to him but pridefully making no sound. Soon Javert starts to nod off and falls asleep unwittingly, leans on the elder’s shoulder, dark circles around eyes are visibly even on his sun-kissed skin. Valjean checks his pocket watch. Almost two o’clock now.

It would be easy for him to throw the boy out at the first place. And it’s easier when Javert was unguarded by sleep. But Valjean knows himself long time ago he can’t. Instead, he leans on the backrest and gently tugs the boy to rest on his lap. Javert shifts to the more comfortable position automatically and doesn’t wake up. At this moment he looks like a real boy; peaceful and untroubled as a child should be. Valjean strokes the boy’s dark hair absentmindedly. Maybe his penalty would be postpone and gave him enough time to explain everything to Cosette, he thinks. Exhausted by the emotional roller-coaster, his eyes becomes heavy with exhaustion, his head rests on the back of the coach. He’s dozing off, snoring.

The morning comes to Javert, his body greeting him with a tolerable pain in bones from growing up overnight and the stiff on the neck from sleeping with no proper supporting. When the grown man figures he is too big to sleep on the couch like that. The inspector groans, rolls out of the narrow surface he slept on and falls off the hard floor. He spills out some curses before he could recall where he is, soothes his hurt behind, and frowns at the white hair man sleep-sitting at the place where he thought the pillow was located.

 _Valjean_ The little voice in him told first, then his eyes sweep and he realizes the little voice was right. He now wide awakes enough to recall what happened. Delight fills him. Now, after the years of hunting, he has the man at his mercy at last. The fact elates him enough that the other fact that he had laid on the convict’s lap for half the night becomes insignificant.

Unconscious of the victorious grin he wears, his hand reaches to the handcuff in his waistcoat pocket. It shouldn’t be there in usually, but the vast topcoat with three collars is too heavy to carry by a boy at the age of nine. He manages to handcuff Valjean together successfully before his convict’s bold figure shrinks down right before his very eyes. The small body before him can’t be older than nine, around the same age Javert was last night.

The handcuff slips away due to the size difference, drown into the sea of surplus fabric. Its weight wakes Valjean up. The boy scratches himself and yawns, kicks the handcuff away from his lap. Javert takes it back, watches the young figure rubbing his eyes. It’s quite strange to see Valjean this young; dark short curls and youthful careless face, instead of the all white hair and weathered face lined with worry. He can’t arrest the boy, not only because that’s before Valjean became a criminal, but also in the same way that he didn’t tell anyone about his de-aging; no one would believe him.

Deciding it’s enough for a peaceful morning, Javert clears his throat. The boy Valjean literally jumps off in panic and almost slips on the trouser’s hem. The inspector allows the boy staring back incomprehensively as he crosses his arms. “Alright, we need to talk, Jean Valjean.”

It would be the biggest shocked for someone whom said inspector Javert never had a wrinkle in his duty or in his uniform, since now his uniform is full of wrinkles. Javert tries fruitlessly to neaten them. But the excuse is; it’s simply impossible to wear the oversize clothes overnight without any folds.

They just settle down awkwardly at the dining table when Cosette runs down the stairs in her night gown, rushing into the room; she had spotted the strange silence inside her father’s room and fear for the worst. Surely Valjean’s de-aging is no secret to her. Unexpected to see an unknown man sitting there instead of her father, who is now shorter than the backrest, she gasps, covering her collar with hands and preparing to run away. The sound causes Valjean, sitting his back toward the door, turns to her and beams.

“Papa! I do really worry when I see no one in your room!” Cosette cries as she clinging on the other side of the door hiding herself. Her scowl sweeps Valjean’s happy beam away. Their current ages makes it more like a sister’s act than a daughter. It seems like she wishes to place her hand on her hip, as if talking to an actual child if they were in private room. Noticing her improper act, her cheeks flush in embarrassment. She decides to drop the topic and turns to another man whom is observing the scene with interest. “…My apologies monsieur! I’ll come back in a minute!”

Valjean looks up at Javert with the eyes of overprotective father. It looks totally absurd on the youth face that makes Javert chortles. The boy clears his throat solemnly; staring into his eyes and speaks in Madeleine’s tone. “I beg you not to mention my past to my daughter.”

This time the authority has lost into his youth. If a random gamin talks to the inspector in such this manner he would laugh and chase him away. The convict boy sighs knowing the other man’s thought. Deeping inside he still afraid of what happened to Fantine would happen again with her daughter. “Please. She is innocent. Let me explain to her when the time comes.”

Javert unwittingly snaps his eyes away, half with annoyance and half with guilt. He remembers the girl, no, he remember the whore mentioned about her daughter. So she wasn’t lie, and the convict has raised her at last. He might care neither of Fantine nor Valjean. But this young Cosette had done no wrong. “I have enough sanity to not ruin hers, Valjean.”

Valjean beams. That should be a normal smile if he is still an adult. The boy slides down to the floor, “I’ll bring you some tea.”

After the tea are set for three and Cosette comes back in her morning dress, the young maiden looks between them, feels too uncomfortable to keep the awkward silence grown under Javert’s piercing eyes. Valjean smiles at her and that didn’t help. The issue is so serious that no one sips the tea.

“How long have you been finding yourself younger at night?” Valjean starts fatherly regardless of his current young age. “You should switch your night shift with someone at least. Paris isn’t for the young boy wandering around.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, _boy_ ” The inspector snaps back. He has every right to call the once-older-man so. “You aren’t policeman, I am. And it’s my decision to do or not to do anything.”

The boy scratches up to argue back, but Cosette clears her throat and rakes around with a frown. “I think I should explain” She declares worryingly, hints that the issue is far more serious than their silly wrangle, “As far as I know, it happened two days ago, the day after my birthday. So I suppose maybe it does relate to my birthday wish.”

The room’s atmosphere interestingly changed. Javert leans in, paying full attention as if what she would say further is to confess or report a crime. He chooses the next word carefully, but it can’t help if she would feel like she is under his investigation. “And if that so, mademoiselle, I won’t ask why on earth you wished him to be a child, but why I am involved?”

“She said she just wished me to live a long, happy life. I won’t blame her for that.” Valjean interrupts, protests in her behalf, scowling at Javert’s tone.

“I absolutely do.” Javert shoots a sharp glance to her, with his normal adult state Cosette avoids his eyes, squirms guiltily. And Valjean slips in trying to protect her from Javert’s sight. It’s a fruitless attempt for his current appearance. Turns out he is clinging on the table edge with his elbows, kneeling on the chair.

“Papa, I…” Cosette stutters, “It wasn’t only that.”

This time Javert shoves the boy figure’s aside to stare at her in the same way as he would do to a suspect. That causes Valjean slipped back to sit on his chair. Cosette squeals, stares back at him angrily until Valjean tugs her sleeve. She sighs. “The actual word is, I wish my father and his love become youthful. It should be merely bless in figurative term. I don’t know why the god takes it literally nor why you were counted in, inspector. I’m sorry.”

There comes muteness. As a quibbler, Javert sees how the word came to be trouble and deeper his frown, glancing his eyes to the boy. Valjean’s stoic expression is gone too; he looks at a loss, as if he wants to laugh to ease up the situation but has no clue what to do. Javert suddenly stands up, snaps down the silence. His chair legs scratch on the wood floor sharply. “Nonsense. I’ll go back to work now.”

“Javert!” Valjean calls, tries to reach another man’s hand but his arms are too short. “Do you still have the night shift?”

The man’s eyebrows quirks up a bit and he nods, not yet understands the reason behind the question. Valjean grins. “Come here before it starts, could you? Let me help. It’s dangerous to go alone at the night.”

“Paris is a dangerous place. Day or night.” He replies casually, looks a bit upset for being taught by a child, and more upset for having to use the term that not frightened Cosette. “Don’t go anywhere. You’re under my quarantine nevertheless.”

****

A gypsy crone grins viciously to Javert through the filthy common cell in the late afternoon. Javert notices it among the writhe faces of her cellmates. “What?”

She giggles, the dried-up figure looks more wicked with the irrelevant maiden manner, “How was your night, brat?”

If he met her before last night, where he was alone suffering under the unmentionable curse, he would assume that she is a factor and grab her neck to force her explains everything right away. As he has a mutual victim and another possible cause, he only quirks an eyebrow up calmly, observing her. It is plausible for a captive to feel bored enough to have random conversation with the jailer. “That wasn’t your business.”

“I merely ask, my son,” The old woman giggles again and disappears from his sight to the corner of the common cell. Javert can do nothing to her but waits until the end of the day, uncharacteristically unable to focus on his work. Half of his mind insists it’s ridiculous to take her word seriously, but the other half already sets her into ‘suspect’ mental binder.

He must bring Valjean here tomorrow to ask. If the woman has something related to the curse, then let the two convicts talk. The young boy as Valjean should be a better spy than himself in this case.

The day ends at last; he left his greatcoat at the station because it’s too late to go back to his flat. At this time he would find a quiet alley and wait until the curse starts its cycle. But today he rushes to the house at rue Plumet, won’t risk anyone see his youth form. Soon Javert arrives and knocks the door. The inspector takes his little time before Toussaint opens the door glancing over, unwittingly notices in the sunset how easily to break in by the garden. He must tell Valjean this. It will be shame to let other criminal sneaks in and harms his trapped convict.

"Valjean, I have some news about the curse." He doesn’t waste any time greeting when he founds another man at the living room. The mentioned man startles a bit at the name and he recalls that Toussaint is still behind him. The host, still in a child figure and children size clothes, decides to let it go casually. He puts down the newspapers he read and Javert founds himself kind of want to tell the other that he looks like a spoiled young bourgeois.

“I don’t believe it’s a curse if it’s from the god, Javert.”

“I believe it’s a curse and it isn’t from the god. And will you just listen without interrupt me for a while?” The inspector clenches on his uniform’s waistband as he feels suddenly dizzy. The entire living room suddenly grows bigger. He heard Toussaint gasps at it and he must grab the coach to keep his balance, then sits down on the nearest coach. “Oh. Fuck this…”

The conversation is mutually agreed to pause. Knowing the cycle will start soon; Valjean leaves the room for a while and comes back in his normal age. Toussaint leaves the room as well and left Javert alone for a while. Then Valjean comes back and sits down at the same place, carrying Javert to his lap easily. He pouts at the older man, sliding down to the space nearby and crossing his arms again. Too unfamiliar. He tells himself the reason he doesn’t push away is he won’t risk the fight with that damn strength.

"It’s unfair" The boy points out, changing the topic. "I’m deaged after sunset, right? And this is winter."

“I agree.” Valjean chuckles, preventing himself from the boy’s tiny punches. “Now, what’s the business about our strange benediction?”

After a while of arguing about the appropriate term (Javert insists it’s the curse, but Valjean seems to believe it’s from Cosette’s birthday wish so it must be the blessing), they are back to the topic. Valjean frowns at himself after everything had been told. Visiting a police station during the daylight is still not in his usual preference even Javert assures Parisian police can’t prove his identity when he is in a child body. “It sounds more like your job than mine.”

“Fine. If you want me strangle her to death before we have any clue of it…” He lowers his voice in warning.

“You had no record of violence towards the suspect.”

“Who knows? I can start it tomorrow.” Javert glances at the man, placing a hand on the ex-convict’s back randomly; he can’t feel those scars through fabric but can feel the man tenses up. Valjean’s hands tremble slightly as he grabs the armrest to stand up quite abruptly, mumbling something about the inspector’s night patrol and they have to go.

Cosette encounters them as Valjean is tightening Javert’s boots. She tries to lend him some boy’s clothes but Javert declines strongly.

*****

They stop at Javert’s flat first. Valjean is told to wait outside while the boy makes random crash sound of gathering clothes. Then the patrol starts. A pickpocket passes them by accidentally during the shift. Valjean doesn’t even notice what’s wrong when Javert starts to run after him without any signal. It’s harder than he thought. He is faster than the young Javert by the longer stride. Yet he misses the chance grabbing the thief’s back collar. The little inspector obviously upsets when he catches Valjean up to see the old convict panting heavily at the end of the street. He is no longer a young man. The exceptional strength might save him from exhaustion but nothing could help his lungs from lack of breath in an unprepared running.

“I must end this damn curse…!” Javert blurts out, following with amounts of taboo words, throwing his fist into the air furiously. Valjean can do nothing to him but mutters a sorry through the huffs. The boy seems like having a great urge throwing him back to Toulon for a while then waves annoyingly, trying to calm himself down. “Maybe you’re useless, Valjean, but at least you didn’t catch the man just to lecture and let him free.”

The patrol ends soon. The house at rue Plumet is quiet as same as its host’s pacing and Javert realizes the ‘Cosette would hear my footsteps’ isn’t true. This time Valjean leads the boy to his room, then spend an hour later fighting over who will let the other take the bed. At the end of the argument the room’s owner blew the candle off (properly with his mouth, not by nose after the convict’s manner) and sinks himself into the bed, caging the boy in his embrace.

“Let me go!” He growls, struggles to get out, but Valjean never obeys him anyway. With his current strength it’s like he is fighting with Goliath.

“Hush, Javert. It’s late.” The older man whispers back and Javert feels the warm breath touches his hair. He yields not too soon, exhausted, and curls himself up in a ball to make more space between.

It’s cramp. Javert didn’t share the bed with anyone in decades and he doubt if Valjean did either. He shifts and shifts finding the comfiest position to sleep. Sometimes the arms surrounded him loosens when he moves. He doesn’t know what time it is, but his personal convict cage doesn’t yet sleep as well. “Hey?”

Valjean utters an ‘Hmm’ sound above his head. The boy grumbles back to him.

“I told you I’ll take the floor. I can’t sleep like this.”

“How will I know you could sleep if you’re on the floor?”

“Don’t be a quibbler to me, dammit.”

“Can’t we talk nicely to each other?”

“Monsieur le Criminal sir. Couldn’t you let me sleep peacefully somewhere but here, could you?”

Valjean sighs. Allows more space to him but doesn’t let the boy goes. Javert tries in vain to push those arms away and gives up. Silence grows instead. A long pause passed. And the man mumbles. “Aren’t there tales that the curses will be gone after a kiss?”

If Javert were in his grown body he must kick the ex-convict out of the bed, regardless of whose bed he lays. He groans, moving back as much as he could. “Don’t even think of it. Life isn’t a silly fairy tale.”

“Normal life isn’t, but I doubt for ours…”

“Then the damn life we live is silly, but isn’t a fairy tale still. Go to sleep.” The boy can’t turn himself over to end the conversation. He sighs annoyingly as tossing finding the right position. Exhausted from struggling, the young Javert drifts to sleep soon, left Valjean awakes staring into the now-familiar darkness.

He feels strange. Valjean didn’t have many people by his side during the night. He shared the bed with his family in Faverolles, but that seems long time ago that he can’t exactly remember. Prison life doesn’t count, too, for there was no actual bed. And he rarely bothered Cosette’s sleep by his appearance.

Most of all people, it’s Javert who is in his arm tonight. Maybe so on until the curse is removed. The thought should disturb him. But he founds it is not.

Does he love Javert? He can’t positively tell. He only knows that the inspector is an exception. He may love many things else, but he places his hunter in the higher rank.

No matter what the boy asserted not to kiss, Valjean tries in his sleep nevertheless. Nothing happens. He still wakes up from the curse dizziness and founds himself in the younger body. Their position reversed. Now he is trapped between the wall and Javert. His hand is clinging on the man’s waistcoat and the other’s arm rests against his body in the way he would describe it ‘possessively’. He can’t remember since when he snuggled into the inspector.

They’re close. Valjean tries the curse remover kiss again. This time it awakes a sleeping inspector but the curse remains. The boy pretends he didn’t do anything as Javert frowns at him.

Instead of ‘good morning’, Javert’s first word is “What time is it?”

Valjean finds the watch. It’s drown somewhere in his pocket. He tugs his sleeve up and notices something on his elbow. “I think I’m a bit older. See? I got this wound from falling down the tree when I was ten.”

The inspector grabs his hand first to see the time. Then shoots a glance to the scar, telling himself it’s merely for his criminal identity database. “Great. Then we will be back to our age soon.”

“…What if it won’t stop after that? Won’t we grown older during the curse and back to our age instead?” Valjean asks worryingly and Javert’s first reaction is frown back dismissively in the same way as father would do to his reckless little son. He almost tells him it is nonsense to think of such a thing. But his pessimistic mind stops him. It was, too, nonsense to say a man can shrink into a boy, but look what happened to them? Everything seems possible now.

Received no answer, the boy starts to panic. It’s harder to keep their emotion still or hide their feelings in the child figure. Javert looks at his little prey, admits to himself he prefers that innocent young face. To see the boy delighted or frightened than little empty smile he wears normally at adult age. He still remembers Jean-le-Cric’s furious eyes and Madeleine’s stoic expression. Both don’t suit Valjean. Both weren’t true. He doesn’t know exactly why he thinks of it. So he pretends he didn’t think and grins at the boy instead. “Ask that hag.”

The boy sighs, yielding.

*****

It isn’t Valjean’s first time in interrogation room but his first time sitting at the policeman’s side. Javert is standing right behind him; placing both hands on his shoulders and makes Valjean feels being captured by a granite statue. The guard leads the old gypsy woman to the room. She sniffs the different clean air; seems doesn’t expect the boy there. Javert nods to the guard as a thank. Maybe it’s strange to have another person in this room besides the policeman and the suspect, yet the man mentions nothing but bows back and leaves.

“I warn you, if you’re trying to bargain for release, it will not happen.” Javert starts first, coldly. Having a boy in front of him doesn’t make him less frightening. Instead, Valjean’s figure proves his authority here in some way even it seems not really effective in this case. The woman starts sneaking around the room laughing.

“Madame, my apologies for his act,” Valjean interrupts, wants to elbow the inspector but the sitting position doesn’t allow. “But we have some problem. Is this something magic-related? Will it be removed by some way?”

Straight to the point, the old woman quirks an eyebrow up, she heads back to the table and leans in looking at the boy closely. Her eyes might be hazy by age but her experience can tell surely that isn’t the youth’s eyes. She smirks and the boy loses countenance. Javert’s hands twitch on his shoulders as if he is in the effort not to strangle her. Valjean squirms beneath the grip.

“It isn’t the magic. I was a harmless tea seller at the market square.” She starts with a non-related topic. “I remember you, my son, you bought my tea before the fight started. But I don’t know this boy…”

Javert frowns. There was merely two or three days before the curse has begun, some drunkards having a fight, and the bored citizen around started a street gambling. That tells him how this woman ended up here but still not the answer for the curse thing. “And the point is…?”

“Guess what I put in your tea leaves!” She giggles again crazily. “Effective, how effective!”

“Skip all your unnecessary babbling, old hag.” Javert interrupts sharply. His voice is threatening with impatient, loud enough to get through the sound of his table slapping that makes some papers jump. The next sentence is hammered each syllable. “Just tell me what kind of torment I shall give to you to remove this damn curse.”

Valjean knows Javert would never raise a baton on his suspect, but the woman doesn’t know inspector long enough, her next laughter contains some uncertainty. “Oh my! Don’t be so rude! It’s merely an herb!”

She refuses to say any usable thing further. Javert signs the guard to take her out and being grumpy all day. In the evening they stop at Javert’s flat to check his tea leaves and found another leaves debased in it. They exchange the looks.

“I’ll blame that hag if there is the same kind in yours” The already shrunk Javert growls.

“But how can it curse only me?” Valjean says ponderingly, he is back to his actual age and has to borrow the host’s clothes for tonight. It’s a bit too long and the shoulders are too narrow. “Cosette always uses the same kettle. And we all drank that tea yesterday.”

“No one drank the tea yesterday.” The boy reminds. “Shall we discuss this during my patrol? It’s quite late to start”

They found some strange leaves in Valjean’s tea and the once-pruner can tell it’s another kind. So now they could imply each kind of herb deages them in the different time. The troublesome tea is kept away from shelf abruptly, but there is still another problem left: Why only Valjean is deaged when everyone uses the same kettle?

Both of them spent hours of the night sitting at the dining table, creating a bunch of hypothesis, but ended up at discarding each other’s theory until Javert falls asleep on the table. Valjean brings him up easily. And the boy snuggles up to him, absolutely has no idea whose embrace he is in.

There is the second day they share the bed, and the second day Valjean wakes up as a child, curling to his jailer. As if it’s the return for Javert’s snuggling at night.

The answer of the leftover question comes to them in the morning. Javert is sipping his plain tea while observing the table. Cosette adds a sugar cube, and Valjean is pouring some milk into his tea. He snaps fingers at the newest hypothesis. “Valj… Fauchelevant, let’s go to the garden for a while?”

Cosette tilts her head, doesn’t yet catch up, but her little father smiles at her and slides down to the floor. “Any clues, Javert?”

With a grin of confident, the inspector leads the boy to outside. Winter morning is still misty and dark. Dews cling on the grass moisten their trouser’s hem. Javert looks up at the big tree with a hollow, and orders. “I know you can climb. Catch me a squirrel.”

“Pardon?” The boy expectedly blinks at him as if he were insane. “Why? They should be safely in the dens during winter!”

Javert quirks up an eyebrow challengingly asking if he can’t. “Just for experiment. We’re still alive. Then those leaves shouldn’t harm them.”

Valjean frowns, “Still animal abuse.”

“Well? I’d try on a cabbage if it won’t be forced cannibalism.” The inspector satirizes. “Bring the leaves instead, then. And a cube of sugar.”

“So you still insist me to catch one?”

“No. Just climb up and feed it. Sugar first.”

“Are you aware that sugar isn’t good for squirrels?”

“Are you aware that I’m commanding you?”

The boy pouts, almost like young Javert’s expression when is forced to do something. After Valjean headed back to the house, Javert surveys the garden and founds an old wood ladder laid aside the shed. That would help his little convict. The inspector places it to the tree and looks up again. He could catch the squirrel himself with the ladder, but he shouldn’t risk it frightened to death.

Valjean comes back having a sugar cube in his hand. The tea tin curves out his waistcoat pocket. His face says he disagrees with Javert but has no more hypotheses to object. He scowls at the inspector as he starts to climb up. The fluffy squirrel there is tamed and sleepy enough to take both feed easily. Expected to see the squirrel shrinks down before his eyes, Valjean observes at it carefully, is aware that it might panic with its youth state and jumps on his face, but minutes passed and nothing happened. He looks down to the inspector. “It doesn’t work!”

“Why? Does it shrink?” Javert asks back loud enough.

“No! I mean it doesn’t shrink!” Valjean turns back, clinging on the ladder with one hand to answer, without noticing how unstable the ladder is. The inspector about to warn him, but it’s almost too late as the ladder loses balance because of the weight. Valjean jumps down. Leaves in the tea tin fly away freely. He had jumped from the more dangerous places, from the ship Orion or the convent wall; two meters height is a piece of cake in his normal state but not with boy’s body.

He lands on the grass with feet and bum and colicky pains. The ladder falls over on another side quite loudly. The squirrel leans out from its hollow to watch.

Javert picks him up and brushes away the dirt, almost in fatherly way. They head back to the house. Valjean freezes in his inspector’s arms, feels like being captured again. He dares not think of the carrying is Javert’s apologies. Maybe it’s only the way to prevent the annoyance of waiting. Useless to protest, Valjean clings on the inspector’s waistcoat instead. It’s another strange thing, but he starts to be familiar to it.

“At least it proves something.” The inspector mumbles. “Will you go with me again today?”

*****

The old gypsy woman’s investigating is going on, she is now alleged for using dark magic and the police keep her in while the other from the street fight was released. Valjean is left with her face to face. During waiting outside, some officer asks Javert about the boy he brought and the inspector can only glares back. There is no progress that day; the old lady keeps insist the herb is harmless, but gives them no hint about what to fix it.

So the new routine begins. Valjean will become Javert’s patrol partner during the night. And Javert will keep his convict next to his desk at the station during the day. (Cosette doesn’t really happy with this arrangement, Valjean never knows she always wants a brother until now.)

Javert’s growth is still the secret, but in three days everyone at the station sees the boy from yesterday reaches his puberty so abruptly. The clothes Cosette bought for his youthful state doesn’t fit anymore even though he is still too small for his normal clothes. After that, when officers ask Javert who Valjean is, the inspector says he is the victim in the gypsy’s curse and that’s the reason for investigating the old captive woman. This task will go on and Valjean is forbidden to be too nice to her.

They grow up day by day and night by night. The boy adapts himself to the paperwork and Javert won’t let him know his gratefulness. Something brings peace between them. The inspector’s sarcasm is lessen and Valjean smiles more even when they’re in the actual age. They still share the bed, too. Soon Javert founds a benefit of being a young adult, the figure suits patrolling well. He doesn’t need his convict in night patrol anymore but never told him to stop.

In the same way, Valjean gets his wasted years back. Even most of it is used in chatting with the old lady. At first days he focused on asking her, kept telling that she won’t be released unless she tells him about the herb. But she only mentioned about how cruel the winter wind is and Valjean understood. She also strongly denied any charity he offered.

From then, their topic is far from the herb. Javert had hinted that the old woman will be released soon since there is no progress in the case and they decide not to send the dossier to the court. (“They will say, ‘We’re in civilized 19 century. We all agree that the magic doesn’t exist.’”) The herb’s effect seems far from worrying, though. Every officer has seen his growth and thinks he will be fine soon without detoxify.

Once, he tells her briefly about Cosette’s wish: “I thought it was from the god before Javert told me about you.”

And she looks into his eyes and says quietly, seriously, with the haze eyes that sailed the world even more than him. “That means you don’t want it end.”

“Will it?”

Maybe she is right; he can easily persuade her answers the exact way to make the herb powerless. But until now he still procrastinates. He drafted the letter to Cosette but never rewrite it. He found himself doesn’t afraid of being under arrest again, but more afraid of losing these moments.

“Eventually.”

The old woman leans against the backrest of the suspect’s chair. Mysterious grin sprouts on her sear face. She gives him no more cooperation.

“Well? How will the curse ended?” Javert asks quite impatiently during the patrol at the dead empty street they’re passing by. The inspector still mentions it as a curse even though he knows it’s a magic herb. “A hag like her shouldn’t waste our time this much.”

“Do you want to end it still?” He glances at him, now the inspector isn’t the boy anymore, at his middle twenty and already at his full height, taller than him. Javert never is a handsome boy, but looks ambitious and powerful. He frowns and nods at the unexpected question before he could think of it seriously. Valjean sighs and asks further. “How will it be after the herb has no more effect?”

“Everything will be back to normal.” The inspector replies automatically.

“Will you…?” Not because it’s a dangerous to his freedom but the words stuck in his throat; he dare not to complete the clause. They both know what the question is. _Will you arrest me? Still?_

It is the second time a day Valjean doesn’t receive the answer. This time he reaches to him, seeking the answer he is kept from. And the answer is given, not by words.

“Thank you,” He whispers into those thin lips. They’re still too close. The winter wind is as cold as usual, but he feels warmth in his chest. He is pardoned now.

“Don’t thank me. You’re a decade dead to the court.” Javert murmurs; sounds like he is trying to summon harshness but failed. He captures both of Valjean’s wrists as if he were a manacle.

“What if the herb’s effect is just removed?” Valjean teases. The inspector merely shrugs, trying to act casually.

“You had tried once before.”

“Twice.” Correcting with a grin, the ex-convict adjusts the inspector’s captive grip into a softer hand-holding. “Seems like Cosette’s birthday wish worked after all.”

Javert looks aside, pretends to not hear the first part, lets the other hand go and they start walking again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for:  
> Windy, my bata reader who tolerates me (Every remained mistake in the fic is mine.),  
> Lokimischiefmanaged, my prompter,  
> and Lucrezianoin, who runs the gift exchange :)
> 
> I'd be glad if you enjoy it! :)


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